


Rise and Shine

by Kissa



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Daytime Sex, Escape, M/M, PWP, house in the forest, jaskier tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-20 19:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissa/pseuds/Kissa
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier make the most of a few days away from their everyday worries.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 123





	Rise and Shine

**Author's Note:**

> I was unable to focus at work today because this was swimming in my head. I wrote it as soon as I got home, and I hope you like it too. Just a dreamy little piece.

It was convenient that Jaskier could call in a favour from someone local, because not only did they have a roof over their heads for the next few days, but it would also be free and they would only have to worry about food and drink.  
  
Geralt found himself unable to resist the moment. Jaskier had no trouble disengaging from their nomadic life. He woke up at sunrise to listen to the roosters and to watch the day break. He made breakfast for the two of them and washed their travel clothes.   
  
Geralt allowed himself to sleep in. The house was so comfortable and out of anyone’s way that even he felt safe there. As safe as a witcher could ever feel, but even so. It was bliss.   
  
There were chamomile and linden flowers drying up in the attic and there was homemade soap in the bathroom. The air in the house was sweet and fragrant, inviting Geralt to unwind and close his eyes.   
  
He bathed long and hot, washing his hair, shaving and trimming where he felt it was needed. The bath was miraculous and took the weariness of the road right out of Geralt’s bones.   
  
He did not miss the blush on Jaskier’s face when the younger man walked into their shared bedroom and laid eyes on a very much naked Geralt, drying himself off in the chill of the room. The fact that Jaskier was so smitten with him was still news to Geralt - as he saw himself as monstrous, whereas if one were to ask the bard, the answer would be very different. 

***  
  
Jaskier lingers and watches in silence for a long moment, which prompts Geralt to question him.   
  
“What is it? It’s still the same old me.”   
  
“Your hair… It's so long and thick and beautiful. May I braid it for you?”   
  
Geralt looks at Jaskier and at the now bigger, rounder blue eyes. It would cost more to resist and he feels so lazy today - wants to go back to bed and spend more time between the soft sheets that for once are not the coarse hemp of inns.   
  
“If it makes you happy,” Geralt concedes and sits on the edge of the bed, still as naked as he was when Jaskier entered the room.   
  
“It does. A lot.” Jaskier replies, hopping onto the bed and kneeling behind Geralt. “I made breakfast, but it can wait.”   
  
“Hmmm… good.” Geralt gives back, closing his eyes. “You smell tempting. What is it?”   
  
“I baked bread.” Jaskier replies and the witcher can hear the excitement in his voice.   
  
Geralt frowns, facing away from the younger man. He knows he’s been unfair. Too harsh, too rushed. But, like water wearing away at a rock it splashes against a million times, he feels himself crumble and give in. 

Light hands gather his hair back and comb through it, freeing it of tangles and knots. Careful fingertips rub his scalp and pour even more peace into him and Geralt feels himself become a puddle. Jaskier works with practiced fingers, quickly braiding Geralt’s hair into three thick braids that become one at the back of the witcher’s head.  
  
Gealt hears the snap of a hair tie into place, wondering where Jaskier found one and if he premeditated this.   
  
He is about to ask, when he feels a cool gust of air on his neck and chest, followed closely by Jaskier’s warm, soft lips on his neck, in a spot that is not often left exposed. He shivers pleasantly with his entire body and closes his eyes. A small pleased sound, like a rumbling purr, leaves the witcher’s throat.   
  
Fingers splay on his chest and tickle trails across the fuzzy contours.   
  
Geralt moans this time. Nothing loud or big, but coming from him, the sound is needy and it makes Jaskier aware that now he started something and he’d better see it through.   
  
Geralt knows that to humans, he must seem insatiable, but it’s a consequence of his many mutations and he tries to remember Jaskier is a lot more fragile than the average man. And even if the younger man can take a lot and is more resilient than he looks, Geralt cares about him for real (something he would not be caught dead admitting aloud) and would hate himself if he were to hurt Jaskier.   
  
So now, with Jaskier showing interest first, things are going exactly Geralt’s way. The morning could not get any better. 

Outside, it started raining, the morning sun giving way to noon clouds, but that’s alright because they are indoors, Roach is also in a clean, dry stable, safe and taken care of, and Geralt just hums his approval, like a lazy house cat who wishes to have his belly scritched some more.   
  
He reaches behind him and unfastens Jaskier’s clothes, turning around slightly to pull the younger man into his lap and begin undressing him.   
  
They devour each other slowly for what feels like hours, and at some point they find themselves back between the sheets, legs tangled, chests touching, lips locked in a kiss that’s been going on (it seems) for hours.   
  
They’re both brand new at this and are still figuring things out, but this morning, judging from just how ravenous Jaskier is, it is clear who has the more pressing itch to scratch. The two men reach an understanding with few words actually spoken between them and in the end Jaskier digs up his vial of fragrant oil from under his pillow.   
  
He takes his time making sure Geralt won’t feel anything but pleasure once he’s inside. And once he judges himself pleased with the result of his preparations, he asks Geralt for his hair tie (a plain long lace, that used to close a corset a long time ago), which he wraps tightly around the base of his engorged cock.   
  
Geralt raises an eyebrow in surprised appreciation and plants his feet on the bed. He’s still getting used to coupling with someone he feels this much for - it definitely enhances the experience and everything about it, but most importantly, he no longer feels like the gaping void inside him is without cure.   
  
Jaskier enters him slowly, pushing in with a deliberate, long stroke, his hands coming up to caress Geralt’s butt, hips and abs. 

Geralt arches into the source of the feeling, hard cock twitching on his lower belly and dribbling a snail trail of precome onto his skin.   
  
Jaskier leans over him and brings their lips together again. It’s like a circuit closes and they both get sucked into the moment.   
  
There is no world anymore. Just them, locked together like a ball of snakes, the lines blurred between where one ends and the other starts.   
  
“You feel so perfect to me. I wish I could tell you how perfect you feel in a way that conveyed it for real. You are so beautiful like this, Geralt.”   
  
The witcher has no words. He is overcome with pleasure and satisfaction at being safe and the one being looked after for a change. And although Jaskier is a smaller, thinner man, he is not without vigour and considerable size. His thrusts feel like they are going ever deeper up into Geralt, making the witcher feel more and more open and like they are bleeding into each other like watercolours onto a page. 

He is not one to last for ages, especially since he has no intention to do so this morning. There are so many things to be savoured, and he can always get hard again.   
  
Jaskier though? Seems determined to fuck him until one of them drops. He pauses only briefly, remaining buried hilt-deep in Geralt as the witcher spills his release onto his belly and chest. And resumes right after, grunting victoriously in the back of his throat.   
  
To Geralt, the sounds Jaskier makes are new and uncharacteristic for the bard. His voice is now lower, thicker, hoarse. But nonetheless tender when he breaks their kiss to whisper “you feel so wonderful to me” in Geralt’s ear, lips moving on the skin of the witcher’s neck and straying to find new places to cover and to claim.   
  
Geralt has never been on the receiving end of such adoration. He feels overwhelmed and awed. Not because he thought the bard incapable of such depth of emotion, but because he did not expect it to leave him feeling so cradled and replenished.   
  
He can’t think of actual words that would not spoil the mood with his lack of finesse, so he finds one of Jaskier’s hands and laces their fingers together.   
  
The touch works wonders though, and seems to convey the answers to all of the younger man’s unspoken questions because he leans back down to kiss Geralt with newly stoked passion. He sits back, hands on the witcher’s _lovely bottom_ , guiding him to a kneeling position and helping him find his feet and support on the mattress.   
  
Geralt knows he is more exposed this way, but he doesn’t care right now and leans back, hands resting on Jaskier’s thighs as the bard now thrusts up into him. His back is arched and pleasure courses up and down his spine, spreading to all corners of his body, making him close his eyes and moan in abandon.   
  
A soft hand wraps itself around his cock, barely managing to close a fist around it, thumb flicking over the frenulum and upward to the tip… hhhh that’s something Geralt enjoys greatly and he lets out an appreciative-sounding curse as Jaskier’s thumb coaxes more sticky fluid from him, spreading it down his length.   
  
It’s not long before the witcher finds himself coming a second time, his spot nudged, rubbed and prodded in all the right ways and his cock getting extra attention as well. He has the decency to use the drying cloth he brought from the bathroom to clean himself before they ruin the nice sheets, but Jaskier doesn’t give him time to finish.   
  
Now he is on his back again, and Jaskier is on him, flush, heavy, in a strange and needy state.   
  
“I don’t want it to end, Geralt. I never want it to end and I never want to let you go. I wish I could stay here forever with you. Cook for you, clean and do anything you need to be happy. Just us in a secret corner of the world. No wars, no monsters, no greedy townsfolk. No one calling you a monster after you rid them of theirs.”   
  
Geralt thinks of saying something to stop Jaskier from spiralling into this strange and unusually naked spot, but when he feels the warm, wet traces on his cheek and neck, he realises it’s too late to stop it now. 

They are in an awkward and hard to manage position, Jaskier can’t move too well and at the moment that seems far from his mind, doing his best to cover Geralt with his own body, as though he could ever be a good enough shield between his witcher and the world. 

So the witcher wraps his arms and legs around the other man, bringing one hand up to caress Jaskier’s head, fingers buried in the soft brown locks.   
  
One hand sneaks between them, to where they are joined, and opens the bow Jaskier put on the hair tie, pulling the long lace off and gently massaging the tender spot.   
  
Even so, trying to be the sober person in this moment, Geralt can’t help but be touched by Jaskier’s words. He believes the bard, he trusts him to tell the truth as always, and he feels the same way, but he knows he’ll never be allowed to escape to somewhere like the younger man wants. Which is why he savours life one moment at a time, catching and tasting each droplet of joy as it comes - a skill he might have to teach Jaskier some day.

He does the work this time around. Moving them into an easier to hold position, where they are lying on their sides, facing each other, hands caressing corded muscle and milky-soft skin, lips leaving burning traces wherever they land. 

This next time, they tumble towards release together. And it’s not so much a peak as it is a safe bower in the middle of a creepy forest - somehow, time stretches like a sugar paste around them and makes their shared pleasure drizzle from man to mutant and back. 

If only Geralt could see himself in the throes of his passion now - there is no trace of the monster he believes himself to be; he glows with the certainty of being loved by one he loves most. But even if one were to hold a mirror up to him, he would not notice, lost as he is in Jaskier’s silent cry of ecstasy.   
  
They both breathe deeply and wait for their pulses to return to normal, even after they are no longer joined. Jaskier seeks Geralt’s warmth and Geralt gladly gives it, pulling the blankets over the two of them.   
  
And the day has just begun, they haven’t even had breakfast yet. Geralt allows himself a cat nap, lulled by the plan of further exhausting Jaskier in the cozy reading corner next to the big window in the main room.   
  
(end)   
  
  
  



End file.
